


meet me when all the lights turn red

by MelikaElena



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: A Hot Make-Out Session, F/M, Hospital, M/M, Modern AU, i threw a bunch of random things in and was like, minor car crash, some jealousy, who knows not me, wonder how it'll turn out???, writing this was like making a stew
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-02
Updated: 2017-04-02
Packaged: 2018-10-13 20:00:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10520817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MelikaElena/pseuds/MelikaElena
Summary: “Wait,” Monty says, “are you...? Do you like me? Is that what you’re trying to say?”Miller rolls his eyes. “Was the makeout session not enough of an indication?”“It was a Moment,” Monty says, “but you could’ve just felt sorry for me.”Miller swallows. “I feel a lot of things for you, Monty,” he admits. “Sorry isn’t one of them.”





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [katsumi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/katsumi/gifts).



> For Kat, for my Thanks-for-Following-Me-on-Tumblr-Here-Have-a-Fic Thing! She requested a fic with "jealousy + hospital + formal wear". Not quite sure how cohesive this all is, tone-wise, but here it is!!! Enjoy; thank you for being wonderful. You're a gift to the Minty fandom.
> 
> Title from @marauders_groupie's wonderful poem, "the inevitable ones" (sunsetblaze on tumblr)

Miller hates everything about the party he’s currently at-- the schmoozing, the people, the tiny specks of food they call appetizers, the weak alcohol, the uncomfortable tuxedo (why, in all that was good and holy in this world, did he and the other men allow Wells to talk them all into wearing tuxes?), all of it. It doesn’t matter that he knows he looks fucking good and his friends are here, too. It’s terrible and he deserves a fucking medal for attending.

 

“Why are you even here then?” Raven asks, downing her flute of champagne.

 

“Because Wells is my friend,” Miller grits out, tugging at bow tie. “And I’m  _ happy _ that he was elected mayor.” Not to mention Well’s is the youngest mayor in their town in over sixty  _ years _ ; in typical Jaha-style, he overachieved and set a record while doing it. 

 

“Uh-huh,” Raven says, looking classy and relaxed in her one-shouldered red dress. “I can totally tell.” 

 

Miller snags a couple more flutes of champagne. “Jesus, is this sparkling cider and no one told me?” He mutters, taking a sip. “It’s so  _ weak _ .” 

 

It’s like she was  _ waiting  _ for him to do that: “Let’s not fool ourselves-- Wells is your friend and you love him, but you really just wanna see Monty in a tux.” 

 

Miller starts choking on his champagne. “Wh-what the hell, Reyes?” 

 

Raven smirks. “No offense, but it’s so obvious, Miller. Everyone and their Bellamy can tell.”

 

Miller starts coughing again. “Does Bellamy know that you’ve replaced the word ‘mother’ with his name in well-known phrases now?” 

 

“Probably, since Clarke started it,” Raven drawls, “but you’re trying to get me off-topic. I know you wanna bang Monty, and I approve.” 

 

Miller squints at her. “Okay,” he says, figuring that denying it would only make things worse. “Not that I need your approval, but thanks, I guess.” 

 

Raven continues as though she hasn’t even heard him. “--To be fair, I approve of your interest, but the way you’re handling it is tragic. Why haven’t you made a move yet? And don’t tell me it’s because of your theory that he’s back with Harper, because how many times do I have to tell you that that’s  _ not true. _ ” 

 

Miller scowls, opening his mouth to tell her to mind her own fucking business, when the newly elected mayor/her boyfriend, appears. 

 

“Raven,” Wells says, putting his arm around her, “I thought you said you were going to be nice tonight.” 

 

“You don’t even know what I was saying,” she protests. “And I said I would be nice to your  _ constituents _ , not Miller.” 

 

“Hey, I  _ am  _ a constituent,” Miller snaps. 

 

“You’re a friend,” Raven says. “You basically  _ had  _ to vote for him.” 

 

“No, he didn’t.” 

 

“No, I didn’t!” 

 

“Miller wouldn’t have voted for me if he didn’t think I was right for the job,” Wells says. 

 

Raven snorts. “He edited all of your speeches, Wells,  _ please _ .” 

 

“Your speechwriter is  _ terrible  _ at spelling,” Miller protests. “Wells wouldn’t have been able to read them, otherwise.” 

 

“How did I know that this conversation was revolving around making fun of me?” Bellamy says, coming up beside them with Clarke, and Miller notes with satisfaction that he’s tugging at the collar of his shirt, too, Clarke batting his hand away. 

 

“It’s like you’re Kevin Bacon,” Miller says. “Somehow we’re always six degrees or less away from making fun of you. It never takes long, no matter what we’re talking about.” 

 

“Ooh,” Clarke’s eyes light up. “Any topic, and in less than six topic changes we can make fun of Bellamy for it? I cosign this challenge _.”  _

 

“I thought you loved me,” Bellamy says mournfully to her. 

 

“Loving you and loving to make fun of you aren’t mutually exclusive,” Clarke says airily, but she gives him a kiss on the cheek anyway. 

 

“Kiss of a traitor,” Bellamy mutters, but he ruins the sentiment by grinning broadly. 

 

“Speaking of kisses,” Raven drawls, “ _ where _ are Monty and Jasper?” 

 

“What do kisses have to do with those two?” Clarke frowns. “Or is this another way to make fun of Bellamy somehow? Does this have to do with how when he gets drunk he goes around kissing everyone on the head like he’s their mother?” 

 

“That was one time!” Bellamy yelps. “ _ One!”  _

 

“Yeah, that you  _ remember _ ,” Raven says, eyebrows raised.

 

Wells frowns at Miller, contemplative. “Wait,” he says. “Does this have to do with your crush on Monty?” 

 

Miller runs his hand over his eyes. “Goddamn, should I have voted for Diana Sydney after all?” 

 

Everyone makes a face at that threat, even Miller. 

 

“Okay, everyone  _ knows _ , Miller,” Raven says. “Or at least the four of us do.” 

 

Bellamy, Clarke, and Wells all nod. 

 

“Ugh,” Miller closes his eyes and resists the urge to chase after a waiter and down an entire  _ tray  _ of weak champagne. “Let me guess: Monty knows, too.” 

 

To his surprise, everyone basically shakes their head.    
  


“Nah,” Clarke says. “I don’t think he has any clue.” 

 

“Totally oblivious,” Bellamy says with a sympathetic smile. 

 

“And that’s saying something,” Raven says, “coming from this guy. He didn’t know Clarke was in love with him for like, three years.” 

 

“And vice versa,” Wells puts in helpfully, earning him a glare from Clarke. 

 

“Don’t you have people to schmooze with?” Miller snipes.    
  


“Yeah, but you’re my friends and I’m celebrating,” Wells says with a grin. “I deserve ten minutes to hang out.” 

 

“Great,” Miller mutters. “And I suppose his speechwriter, campaign manager, and girlfriend also don’t have other places to be?” 

 

“Nope,” Clarke says cheerfully. “We never planned on having this intervention, but now that it’s happening, we wouldn’t miss it for the world.” 

 

Bellamy shrugs. “I was all for staying out of this unless Miller brought it up,” he says. 

 

“Like a real friend,” Miller agrees begrudgingly. 

 

Raven rolls her eyes. “No, a real friend is telling you to get off you ass and ask him out!” She says. “What are you even waiting for?” 

 

“It’s too late,” Miller says. “He’s back together with Harper. They’re coming to this together. It’s basically official.” 

 

“I think he’s just giving her a ride,” Wells says. “Plus, Jasper is coming with them, too. Definitely not a date.” 

 

“Fine,” Miller says loudly, just wanting this whole conversation to be over, “I’ll think about it. Okay?” 

 

Clarke smiles. “That’s all we ask,” she says. 

 

“No, it’s  _ not,”  _ Raven mutters, but Wells takes mercy upon Miller, dragging her off to meet some people with him. 

 

Clarke takes Miller’s hand and squeezes, briefly. “You know we just want you to be happy, right?” She says. “Even Raven.” 

 

“Yeah, yeah,” Miller sighs, but he can’t deny that he appreciates their concern, even if it’s also annoying as hell. 

 

Some days, he thinks it really  _ is  _ that simple: just ask Monty out. But then Monty turns a smile on him and Miller’s-- well, not  _ tongue-tied _ , but he clams up; shuts down; has to tell himself to breathe and relax and smile back, no matter how small. Words are too much to even contemplate. But maybe someday soon he’ll get his shit together. Unlike Clarke and Bellamy, he isn’t going to be obtuse about his friends’ advice: if they all believe Harper and Monty aren’t together, they’re probably right. 

 

Normally, Miller’s the kind of guy who can take action immediately and decisively, but in this he’s cautious: he’s liked Monty for too long and too much to act without thinking things through. Asking him out and being rejected would be miserable and awkward, but if he says yes instead… well. The reward  _ more  _ than outweighs the risk. 

 

Soon after Wells and Raven leave, Octavia shows up with her new boyfriend, so of course Bellamy’s off in a huff to interrogate him, Clarke rolling her eyes as she goes after him. Miller opts to watch the disaster from afar, and he just about starts to relax when he feels his phone buzz in his pocket. 

 

As discreetly as he can, he checks it and, to his surprise, it’s Harper. Part of him think it’s a misdial, but he figures he better check. He goes out into a hallway, waiters bustling about him, and he pulls out his phone. 

 

“Hey?” 

 

“Hey,” Harper says tensely. “Are Monty and Jasper there by chance?” 

 

“What?” Miller frowns. “No, they aren’t. Aren’t they… aren’t they supposed to be with you?” 

 

“They are,” Harper says. “But they’re almost half an hour late, which is a lot even for them. I’ve tried calling and texting, but… they haven’t answered. Neither of them. I’m worried.” 

 

“Fuck,” Miller swears. “Okay, when was the last time you heard from them?” 

 

“Maybe an hour ago? Monty texted me to say they were just leaving their apartment.” 

 

Miller doesn’t even have it in him to be jealous; he’s just worried. “Okay, I’ll try calling both of them again and if they don’t pick up, maybe we should go to their apartment? I can come get you.” 

 

“I’ve actually called an Uber to come get me,” Harper says, “so I’m on my way to the party now. I can meet you there.” 

 

“Sure,” Miller says, already eager to get off the phone, to call Monty. “See you soon.” 

 

They hang up, and Miller dials Monty. To his relief, Monty picks up. 

 

“Hey,” Miller says. “Harper just called me. Where are you?” 

 

Monty’s signal must be bad--  _ terrible _ \-- because he can only catch snippets of what Monty’s saying, but what he does say makes his blood run cold: “Nate...Jasper and I… car accident. We’re both… banged up… badly … Arkadia Hospital… We both... tell Wells...can’t make it.” 

 

There are things that, theoretically, Miller knows to be true: Monty is alive. Whatever his physical condition, he’s well enough to be talking on the phone. He’s gotten help. 

 

But none of that in reality actually  _ matters, _ because all he knows is that Monty’s been in a car accident and is at the hospital, and it’s unacceptable that he’s not at his side. 

 

A waiter pases Miller with water, and Miller snags one and downs it. He only had a couple flutes of champagne, and it was weak stuff, but it was also in quick succession. He’s not drunk, doesn’t even feel tipsy, but he can’t take the risk. He’s going to tear out of here, that’s for damn sure, but once he’s in the driver’s seat he knows he needs to remain calm. Focused. He’s not going to get into a car accident himself if he can help it. 

 

He makes a beeline to Bellamy once he goes back into the ballroom. Bellamy, still in the midst of interrogating Octavia’s boyfriend, doesn’t notice him, but Clarke sees him coming out of the corner of her eye and she stiffens at his expression. Bellamy’s his best friend, but Miller’s known Clarke longer, and sometimes he forget how well she knows him, too. It’s not terribly noticeable, but there are enough signs that his expression isn’t just Everyday Surly Miller, but Shit is Not Okay Miller. 

 

Bellamy, his arm pressed to Clarke’s, stops mid-question to look down at her, but he quickly follows her line of sight and sees Miller. He’s already frowning, he and Clarke stepping in unison toward him, Octavia and her date forgotten (Octavia, seeing the opportunity, grabs her date’s sleeve and flees to the bar.) 

 

“What’s wrong?” Bellamy asks lowly. 

 

“Jasper and Monty were in a car accident,” Miller says. “I think they’re okay, but I couldn’t hear Monty very well, and I just--”

 

Clarke grabs his hand and this time he holds on. “Are you okay to drive?” She asks. 

 

Miller nods. “Yeah, I feel fine. I’ll be careful. I just need to go.” 

 

It’s like he’s talking to his parents, but somehow it’s comforting rather than weird. Bellamy assesses him for a moment and nods. “Okay,” he says. “Call when you find something out, okay?” 

 

Miller nods and lets go of Clarke’s hand, and he stalks out of the room. He can see Wells and Raven, confused, but he doesn’t stop to talk-- Bellamy and Clarke can let them know what’s going on. He doesn’t think about Harper, on her way, or of anything else. All he can think about is getting to the hospital. 

 

* * *

 

Jasper’s girlfriend, Maya, is a doctor at Arkadia; she’s on shift tonight, and that’s why she couldn’t go to Wells’ celebratory ball. It’s a weird twist of fate that should work in his favor, but unfortunately, Miller doesn’t have her number so he can’t contact her, though it’s at least something to keep in mind as he makes his way to the hospital. 

 

He can feel his phone vibrating in his pocket, but he doesn’t dare take it out to check it. It’s probably Bellamy or Raven or Harper, and he doesn’t have anything to tell them yet. 

 

In his controlled panic, Miller has no plan for how he’s going to find out where Monty and Jasper are, so it’s lucky for him that, coming into the hospital, one of the first persons he sees is Maya, on some sort of break, sipping a coffee as she chats with one of the nurses. 

 

“Miller?” She blinks at him, confused and concerned, and all he can think is,  _ Oh, God, she doesn’t know.  _ “What are you--?” 

 

“Monty and Jasper,” he rasps, “they’ve gotten into a car accident. I don’t--” 

 

Maya’s already pale complexion whitens. “What?” 

 

Miller, who, while he doesn’t talk a  _ lot _ , considers himself to be an articulate man, but he’s pretty sure he’s barely coherent as he tries to explain to Maya what he heard from Monty. 

 

“Okay,” Maya says gravely, and just by looking at her Miller can tell that she’s already mentally ten steps ahead of him. “I’m going to find out where they are and what’s going on, okay? Stay here, I’ll be back soon.” 

 

Miller sits down, his left leg bouncing, and his phone buzzes again, and he knows he should answer it, but he can’t make himself. He doesn’t even know if he can open his mouth without throwing up from nerves. Briefly, he thinks he should’ve gotten Maya’s number. 

 

_ Monty is fine, Monty answered the phone, you spoke to him.  _

 

Miller keeps telling himself that over and over, but he’s also trying desperately to remember the details: how did Monty sound? Did he sound okay, or did he sound like he was in pain? Did he sound calm or shaken? Miller knows himself well enough to know that he can’t be sure, that any gut instinct he might have would just be him projecting, for better or for worse. 

 

A few minutes later, a nurse stops in front of him. “Nathan Miller?” He asks. 

 

“Yeah?” 

 

“Dr. Vie asked me to come get you. She said that your friends-- Monty Green and Jasper Jordan-- are on the seventh floor, room 702.” 

 

“Thank you,” he breathes, already jumping out of his seat and off to the elevator. 

 

His phone is buzzing again as he steps onto the floor. He makes a sharp right, and curses, fumbling for it in his pocket. He picks it up without checking to see who it is. 

 

“Hello?” He barks. 

 

“Nate?” 

 

Miller stops in the middle of the hallway. He pulls the phone from his ear and looks down. 

 

**Monty Green**

 

His brain has stopped functioning; it’s like the phrase DOES NOT COMPUTE is actually flashing before his eyes. 

 

“Nate?” 

 

He hears it again, but the question isn’t coming from his phone. Miller looks up. 

 

Standing no more than forty feet away from him, phone in hand, is Monty. 

 

That Miller _ can _ compute, and he strides quickly toward him, his eyes roving over him, taking everything in: his tux is rumpled, bow tie undone, hair askew. There’s a bandage over his cheek, and Miller has a feeling that he had to get stitches. His hands have a slight tremor, and he looks shaken, but otherwise, he’s fine. 

 

He stops a couple feet away and can see Monty’s throat swallow. “Nate,” he says again. His voice is low. “You’re-- you’re here.” 

 

Miller nods. 

 

Monty holds up his phone. “I tried calling you,” he says. “To tell you not to worry. That we were okay.” 

 

“I was probably already on my way by then,” Miller says, thinking of his phone buzzing in his pocket as he drove. 

 

Monty bites his lip. “I’m sorry,” he says, “for making you miss the party and come all the way here for noth--”

 

“Monty,” Miller says forcefully. “None of that matters. The only thing that matters right now is you.” 

 

Monty’s eyes widen. 

 

Miller can feel himself flushing, but he keeps going, needs to know: “Are you okay?” 

 

Monty nods, but it’s a little bit shaky. “I’m fine,” he says, “Just got a little scratched up. I’ve been checked out by the doctors-- no signs of concussion. Jasper, is a bit worse off-- he fractured his collarbone, and there  _ is  _ a chance of a concussion, so they’re keeping him overnight for observation.” He runs a hand through his hair. “We were pretty lucky, actually. Some asshole plowed into the back of a car, and we were the  _ three cars ahead _ . We were just lucky that he didn’t send us careening into the intersection.” His hands are trembling even more now, and Miller, spying the motion, snaps, hauling Monty into his arms. Monty drops his phone but neither care, and his own arms come up to clutch at Miller’s shoulders. 

 

“You’re okay,” Miller murmurs into Monty’s hair. “You’re both okay.” 

 

“I know,” Monty says, his lips near Miller’s ear, “I don’t know why-- I should be fine--” 

 

“It’s been a stressful night,” Miller says, holding him tighter, and he can picture it all too clearly: the crash, the shock, Jasper’s cries of pain, Monty’s shaky fingers as he dials 9-1-1, Monty trying to keep Jasper calm, trying to figure out what’s going on, his own fear, his own pain, pushed to the side-- 

 

“Let me take you home,” Miller whispers, and Monty’s fingers curl into his coat. “Let me stay with you tonight. You shouldn’t be alone.” 

 

“I was going to stay here,” Monty says, pulling back finally, but not stepping out of Miller’s arms. “Make sure Jasper’s okay.” 

 

A door opens, and Maya steps out. “He’s sleeping now,” she says to them both, completely unfazed by their embrace. “I make sure he got, in his words, ‘the good stuff.’ He’ll be fine, Monty. Go home and rest.” She steps closer, scrutinizing Monty’s face. “And you’re okay?” 

 

Miller begrudgingly lets his arms fall from Monty so Maya can look him over again-- he supposes that’s a good enough reason-- and Monty does the same. Maya shoots him a small smile and lifts her hand to Monty’s face, lifting the edge of the bandage gingerly to check the stitches. They must be to her satisfaction, because she delicately replaces it before taking Monty’s hands in hers and squeezing. “I saw your chart,” she says, “and I know you’re  _ fine, _ but are you…?” 

 

Monty glances at Miller, who’s grabbed Monty's phone and stepped away to give them some privacy, and to tap out an update to their big group text with their friends. “I’ll be okay,” he says. “It’s been a night, but… Nate’ll take care of me.” 

 

“I know he will,” Maya says warmly, as she steps away. “Jasper said his car got towed to a shop?” 

 

“Yeah,” Monty says, “I’m not-- I have the info on me somewhere, but I don’t remember.” 

 

“It’s okay,” Maya soothes. “We’ll figure it out.” She looks over at Miller, who’s pocketed his phone and is coming back toward them. “Right?” 

 

Miller nods resolutely.  “Of course,” he says. “Ready to go?” 

 

Monty nods. “Tell Jasper for me?” He asks Maya. 

 

“I’m not leaving his side,” Maya smiles tiredly. “My shift ends in an hour, and my coworkers were nice enough to take my cases early.” 

 

“Let us know if you need anything,” Miller offers. “We’ll be back tomorrow to come get Jasper when he’s discharged.” 

 

Monty looks over at him, startled. “We are?” 

 

“Yep,” Miller says decisively, but then he looks over at Monty, a touch hesitant, from under his lashes. “Is that okay? You don’t have a car right now--” 

 

“Yes, it’s okay,” Monty interrupts, his hand reaching out and wrapping around Miller’s wrist. “Thank you.” 

 

* * *

 

It’s a quiet drive back, and Miller drives carefully, taking the back roads to Monty’s apartment, where there’s little traffic, and he can see Monty, so tense as they started, relax bit by bit as they drive. 

 

Monty’s phone keeps buzzing, and he’s already been on the phone with Clarke and Bellamy and Harper and his parents, telling them all, yes, he’s okay, and no, he wasn’t at the hospital anymore, so no need to come and see him, and yes, he won’t be alone tonight, and yes, he’ll check in with them tomorrow, and with each call he sounds more and more strained, the adrenaline from earlier wearing off, and Miller just wants to roll down his window and throw Monty’s phone out, and take him somewhere he’ll feel safe, where he can sleep peacefully and without fear or stress.

 

The calls stop as they pull up to the apartment building, and Monty points out Jasper’s parking spot. Miller pulls in and kills the engine. They climb out, and Miller has to dart his eyes away at the curve of Monty’s spine as he stretches. 

It isn’t until they’re stepping into the apartment, Monty flicking on the front table lamp, that he speaks. “Thanks again,” Monty says quietly, “for coming to the hospital. You didn’t have to, but-- I’m glad you did, anyway.” 

 

“Then I’m glad I came,” Miller says. 

 

“I didn’t realize,” Monty continues, “until everything had settled down, Jasper was taken care of, the car had been towed, and I was away from the accident-- how much I wanted someone with me.” He ran his hands through his hair, an incredulous laugh bubbling from his throat, “And I stepped outside the room to call you, wishing that you were there, and I looked up and-- and there you were.” He’s looking at Miller in wonder now. “Just when I needed you the most.” 

 

Miller raises his hand to cradle Monty’s cheek, his thumb running feather-light over the bandage. Monty presses his face into Miller’s palm. “I’ll always come for you,” Miller says lowly. “Whenever you need me, I’ll find a way to get to you.” 

 

Miller holds his breath as Monty stares at him, the soft light of the lamp illuminating his wide eyes. Miller can’t tell how Monty’s taken his vow, is about to change the subject, when the other man launches himself suddenly at Miller, sheer luck propelling his lips to land squarely on Miller’s. 

 

Miller wastes no time pulling Monty closer, one arm wrapping around his waist and the other sliding around from his cheek to the back of his head. Monty’s hands settle on either side of Miller’s face, their hips aligned. The kiss is not gentle, or soft; Miller’s mouth opens under Monty’s, mimicking his heart as if to say,  _ take what you need from me _ . Everything is sensory overload-- the slide of their lips and tongues; the rustling of the crisp dress shirts as Miller rucks up Monty’s from his pants so he can slide his hands over his back; the smell of their combined aftershaves, Monty’s lighter and fresh, Miller’s darker and smoky; the scratch of Miller’s beard on Monty’s cheek, his jaw, down this throat… 

 

It’s when they start shedding their jackets and start unbuttoning each other’s shirts does Miller’s brain kick in, and he fumbles with the buttons, stopping completely. Monty stills as well, looking up at him from the buttons. “Nate?” He asks, voice small, confused. 

 

Miller takes Monty’s hands in his, holding them to his shirt, to his rapidly beating heart. “Hey,” he says. “We don’t-- do you want to do this tonight?” 

 

“Do you not want to?” 

 

“I do, I definitely do, but I want to make sure. You’ve had a rough night and I don’t want this to be…” he trails off, not knowing how to find the words. 

 

Monty exhales a long breath. “Yeah, I get it,” he says. “You’re right.” His hands fall away and Miller lets him. 

 

They both pick up their jackets, and Miller hangs them up while Monty goes to change his clothes; these are  _ rented _ suits, after all, and he thinks everything’s okay until Monty comes back out. 

 

“You don’t have to stay, you know,” Monty says, and Miller realizes that Monty won’t look at him. “I’m fine.” 

 

Miller swallows. “Is that what you want?” He asks. “For me to leave?” 

 

“You’ve gone above and beyond tonight,” Monty says, rubbing the back of his neck. “You’ve done so much already, I can’t ask you to do more.” 

 

Miller shakes his head, frustration and longing and fear building up in him. “That’s not what I asked,” he says lowly. “What. Do. You. Want?” 

 

“You!” Monty bursts out, finally lifting his head to look at him. “Okay? I want you to stay. I don’t want you to leave.” 

 

Miller comes close to him, rubbing his hands up and down Monty’s arms. “Then I won’t go,” he says. He takes a breath. “Monty,” he says. “You have to know, don’t you?” 

 

Monty frowns. “Know what?” 

 

“How much I-- I wouldn’t do this for just  _ anyone _ .” 

 

“Wait,” Monty says, “are you..? Do you  _ like  _ me? Is that what you’re trying to say?” 

 

Miller rolls his eyes. “Was the makeout session not enough of an indication?” 

 

“It was a Moment,” Monty says, “but you could’ve just felt sorry for me.” 

 

Miller swallows. “I feel a lot of things for you, Monty,” he admits. “Sorry isn’t one of them.” 

 

“Oh,” Monty says, so softly it’s like an exhale. 

 

“I don’t mean to put you on the spot,” Miller says. “I don’t want to pressure you. I’ll be whatever you need me to be, okay?” 

 

Monty’s quiet for a moment. “How about boyfriend?” He asks finally. 

 

Miller smiles. “Yeah?” 

 

“Yeah,” Monty says, a smile lighting up his own face. “Or is that too much, too soon?” 

 

Miller shakes his head. “That’s exactly what I want, too.” 

 

“Really?” Monty says. “Then how come you haven’t asked me out sooner?” 

 

“I thought you were back together with Harper!” Miller protests. 

 

Monty laughs. “What? No! That wasn’t going to happen; she’s seeing someone new, and I like  _ you _ .” 

 

“You could’ve asked me out, too, you know,” Miller says. 

 

“I was working up to it!” Monty says. “You can be pretty intimidating, you know.” 

 

“You can be, too,” Miller says, smiling as Monty tries to cover a yawn. “Okay, boyfriend, time for bed.” 

 

Monty grins sleepily at him. “I do like the sound of that,” he says. “Do you need something to sleep in?” 

 

Miller shrugs. “I’m good with my boxers and undershirt. Is that okay? Can you keep your hands to yourself?” 

 

“Maybe tonight,” Monty says. “But tomorrow morning? No promises.” 

 

“I look forward to it,” Miller says. 

 

He undresses and they brush their teeth and crawl into Monty’s bed together, their arms coming around each other like they’ve been together for years. 

 

“Hey, Nate?” Monty murmurs, his lips brushing Miller’s collarbone.    
  


“Hmmm?”

 

“If it had been the other way around,” he says, “I would’ve come for you, too.” 

 

Miller smiles, presses a kiss to Monty’s hair. “I’m glad,” he says. 


End file.
